


your lipstick smudged on my thumb

by el_em_en_oh_pee



Series: tumblr "drabbles" [14]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cisswap, F/F, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:52:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_em_en_oh_pee/pseuds/el_em_en_oh_pee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is still gritty from sneaking away to the beach with Niall by the time she gets to the venue.</p>
<p>“Do you want to shower?” Liam asks her, when she goes for a hug and brushes sand off Louis’s shoulder, but Louis just shrugs. </p>
<p>“Gonna get dirty again on stage anyway, aren’t I?” she asks, and Harry, overhearing from where she’s texting Nick a funny picture at the edge of the room, is fairly certain that Louis means from jumping around and singing for hours. But that’s not where her mind goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your lipstick smudged on my thumb

**Author's Note:**

> from the prompt "will you write me something with girl harry and girl louis? anything. literally anything. anything at all." crossposted from tumblr.

Louis is still gritty from sneaking away to the beach with Niall by the time she gets to the venue.

“Do you want to shower?” Liam asks her, when she goes for a hug and brushes sand off Louis’s shoulder, but Louis just shrugs. 

“Gonna get dirty again on stage anyway, aren’t I?” she asks, and Harry, overhearing from where she’s texting Nick a funny picture at the edge of the room, is fairly certain that Louis means from jumping around and singing for hours. But that’s not where her mind goes.

“Dirty, huh?” she asks. Harry herself is clean of body, as she’s spent the entire day napping at the pool and trying to pull Liam in with her during one of her cool-down dips when no one else was looking. She is, however, unclean of mind. Right now she’s thinking of rutting against Louis’s shapely thigh until she’s soaking Louis’s costume tights through her own underwear. That’s a nice kind of dirty. 

Louis cuts her eyes over at Harry. “Hush, you,” she says, but she’s biting her lip. Harry chooses to interpret that triumphantly. 

She’s right to do so, too. Liam wanders off to find Niall, or snog Niall, or whatever it is that Liam does with Niall when they’ve spent the day apart - it’s probably similar to what Liam and Zayn do when they’ve spent the day apart, or Niall and Zayn; Harry doesn’t think to question their relationship. It’s possible - plausible, even - that they just play Parcheesi in onesies. Harry is part of the weirdest girlband on the entire planet, which suits her just fine.

And then she and Louis are alone in the room. “What kind of dirty?” she asks Louis, dropping her phone on the table where Lou has spread all of their makeup out and sauntering over towards Louis, crowding her against the wall. “Sexy dirty?”

“I’m not going to fuck you on stage, no matter how many times you beg,” Louis says, dryly, which is rude of her, in Harry’s opinion. Not that she often begs Louis to fuck her on stage. Usually she just begs to fuck Louis on stage. There’s a distinction there, and it’s important. Harry wants everyone in the world to see how gorgeous Louis gets when she comes undone from Harry’s touch. 

“What about under the stage?” she asks, though, and Louis purses her lips contemplatively.

“Yeah, that might do,” says Louis, and she wraps a hand tight around Harry’s wrist and, flashing a grin at her, drags her out of the room.

No one is hanging out under the risers of the stage, which is fine, but even if they were it wouldn’t exactly matter to Harry. She likes the rush of hearing Louis biting back moans, trying unsuccessfully to swallow them before they fill the air, knowing that anyone could walk by at any time. She’s even fingered Louis under the tablecloth at fancy dinners before, when they’re out with the girls. Louis gets off on trying to keep people from catching on more than she does the threat that they actually will, but what matters to Harry is that they both get off on it for some reason or another. 

“How sandy are you?” she asks Louis, conversationally, tangling the fingers of her free hand in the ends of Louis’s long hair and tugging her hair until Louis tilts her head up towards Harry, lower lip jutting out, asking for a kiss. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” says Louis, because she knows that Harry does. “Guess you better find out.”

“Guess so,” Harry says, grinning, and then she leans down, tugging on Louis’s hair once more before kissing her, slow and thorough, licking through the seam of Louis’s lips almost lazily. 

“Didn’t get sand in my mouth,” Louis mumbles, eventually, and Harry grins to herself. Louis is especially gorgeous when she gets desperate but tries to hide the fact, and it’s always so fun to draw it out of her.

“‘sthat so?” she asks, and she tugs the neck of Louis’s vest over and down, hooking it under one of her tits. Louis is wearing a bikini top under her shirt with a front-latch knot, which is convenient for Harry. She fumbles with it for a few minutes before it finally pulls free. Louis’s chest is dotted with sand, where she must have missed it, brushing off quickly before hustling back into a car to get to the stadium on time, so Harry brushes it off carefully, making sure to drag her thumb roughly over Louis’s nipple as she does so. 

Louis’s breath catches, but she doesn’t make a sound. A challenge today, then. Harry leans in, bending down until she can lick over Louis’s full little breasts, tasting the salt from the surf on her skin, nibbling at Louis’s hard little nipple until Louis reaches up to grip Harry’s shoulder, tight, holding her steady. 

“Let’s get you dirty,” Harry murmurs when she finally pulls away, relishing in the way that Louis’s eyes spark and dart over her lips. “Gonna make you come so hard.”

“I bet you will,” Louis says. Her voice is dry, and she licks her lips twice, which means she is very turned on. Harry slips a hand down the front of her shorts to check - Louis’s bikini bottom is damp, and Harry’s willing to hazard a bet that it’s not from the ocean.

She looks over the ground. There’s nothing down there that would hurt her knees, particularly, but she does have to jump about on stage for a few hours pretty soon, so kneeling probably isn’t the best idea. “If I hoist you up on that riser,” she says, nodding behind Louis. “Can you stay sitting on it?”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Louis says, grinning, so Harry unbuttons the snap of her denim shorts and pulls them down, over Louis’s knees and then off onto the floor. She helps lift Louis up and props her hands on the riser on either side of Louis’s knees, using them as leverage as she leans down and presses the flat of her tongue against Louis’s bikini bottoms.

They’re damp, musky with the taste of Louis seeping through and the lingering salt of the ocean, and Harry can’t get enough, licking over and over the fabric until it’s soaking and dragging against Louis’s clit in a way that Harry knows from experience is tantalizing.

“So dirty,” she murmurs, and backs away long enough to hike the bikini to one side with her fingers, just enough that she can dive back in, thrusting her tongue into Louis’s hole to really get at the taste of her, heady and thick with arousal, before licking up to her clit and thrumming her tongue over it, steady and careful, with the occasional random jab of the tip of her tongue, hard and quick and darting, the way Louis likes it.

She can hear the muffled sounds of the stadium filling up outside, their fans screaming lyrics louder than the ads on the screens on stage, but louder still in her ears is the sound of Louis, muffling her moans with her head tucked against her own shoulder. If Harry knows her Louis - and, after years of this, she’s fairly certain that she does - Louis is biting the skin there, enough to leave a mark. Louis loves leaving her marks - on Harry, on their bandmates, on herself.

“You’re being so good,” Harry mumbles, even though Louis is the one telling her that. “Taste so good, Louis. No sand here.”

Louis barks out a laugh, but it’s high and pitchy, breathy with arousal. “Harry,” she moans, and one of her hands comes up to dig into Harry’s hair. “Haz.”

“That’s right,” Harry murmurs, and she pushes in even closer, close enough to give Louis’s clit a little nibble. Louis’s thighs jerk around her head, squeezing in, muffling the sounds from the crowd outside even more. It’s amazing. “Come for me.”

And Louis does, the damp spreading hotly on Harry’s chin, the taste growing more pungent, completely wiping out any lingering salt from the beach. “Love you,” she mumbles, breathless to the last, as Harry slowly extricates herself and grins up at Louis. “Your face is shining.”

“Better lick yourself off me, then,” Harry says, happily. There’s nothing she loves better than making Louis come, except maybe singing. It’s a close call, maybe even a tie. 

“Could do that,” Louis says, thoughtfully. She hops off the riser, landing flush against Harry’s front. “While I take care of you.”

“Please,” Harry whispers, and Louis backs her against the wall, standing on tiptoes to kiss her thoroughly, shoving a hand down Harry’s shorts. Harry’s already in her stage outfit - luckily, no one will be able to see the way her panties are drenched from the audience, and she can always change them when she switches to a skirt if she has to. 

Louis fingers her loose and sloppy, because her movements are always less exact, more languid, after she’s come, but Harry likes it that way, likes the way that Louis catches her clit between her middle and index fingers and twists before working her hand lower and pushing them inside of Harry, pumping them and working at Harry’s clit with her thumb simultaneously. She licks over Harry’s chin, wickedly, and then feeds Harry her own taste back in a sloppy, openmouthed kiss. 

“Wanna leave a mark,” she whispers, breaking the kiss, but they both know she can’t; she can’t get at any skin Harry won’t be showing at some point or another during the concert, the way that they’re standing. She makes do by biting at Harry’s bra strap, light enough that it won’t mark up, but still enough that Harry can feel her teeth, catching the skin of her shoulder in addition to the black fabric. 

“World already knows I’m yours,” Harry says, which isn’t exactly true but it’s true enough for the both of them, and it resonates enough with Louis that her eyes go dark again and she slips her fingers out of Harry and rubs them wetly over Harry’s clit, quick and slippery and hard, shoving her knee up to add pressure. 

“People could walk in and see me like this,” Louis whispers, and that’s all it takes Harry to come, shuddering against Louis and slumping forward until all her weight is against Louis’s shoulder and Louis is drawing her hand free, wrapping it around Harry’s back and patting her. “There, there,” she murmurs. “There’s a good Harry.”

It would be dead romantic if Harry didn’t know her girlfriend. “Did you just wipe me off your fingers on my actual costume shirt,” she asks Louis, and Louis grins at her, patting her cheek with damp fingers. 

“Love you, babe,” she says, and Harry rolls her eyes and kisses her cheek, loud and wet. 

“Love you too,” she says. “God knows why.”

The thing is, though - the entire world knows why, probably.

**Author's Note:**

> [original work](http://dulosis.tumblr.com/post/86080412356/saskia-will-you-write-me-something-with-girl-harry)


End file.
